‘Yes, I may be,’ Hester agreed drily, ‘but I certainly do not want to give that impression! That is lovely, thank you, Susan. Please can you go and see if Miss Prudhome needs any help with her hair?’
Jethro kept a sharp eye on the arrivals across the lane and finally called up from the bottom of the stairs, ‘Mr and Mrs Bunting have come, and a lady and gentleman I don’t know,’
It was ten past seven and Hester decided it was time she left. She had wanted to avoid being first, but at the same time she did not want to make a late arrival, which could appear as though she was attempting to make an entrance.
She descended the stairs with Susan behind her, making last-minute attempts to stop her back hair falling down, and arrived in the hall feeling quite pleasantly fluttered.
‘Oh, stand still, Miss Hester, do! Now, that should stay up,’ Susan added doubtfully. She stood back and regarded her mistress from top to toe, head on one side, pin cushion in hand. ‘Very nice. Miss Hester. About time you got all dressed up again.’
Jethro meanwhile picked up a stout walking stick from beside the door and stood by while Hester tied the strings of her heavy winter evening cloak.
&nbs
p; ‘What on earth are you carrying that for, Jethro?’
‘You’re wearing the diamonds, Miss Hester,’ the lad said, eying the cold blaze at Hester’s throat and in her ears. Miss Prudhome produced a predictable gasp of alarm.
‘I hardly think I am going to be beset by footpads in the village street,’ Hester retorted with a chuckle. ‘I do hope they don’t seem ostentatious, but Papa did like me to wear them.’
‘Now, stop worrying.’ Susan urged her towards the front door. ‘Go and enjoy yourself.’ She glanced at Jethro. ‘We did wonder, Miss Hester…’
‘You want to go out too? Yes, of course,’ Hester agreed readily. ‘Where to?’
‘Only to the Bird in Hand. They have a skittle alley out the back.’
‘And a local team who are playing the next village.’ Jethro chipped in. ‘Seeing as how I’m a dab hand with the skittles, I did wonder if I might get a chance to try my luck.’
Hester suppressed the remark that playing skittles in the local hostelry was hardly the recreation of choice of fashionable butlers and agreed. ‘Just be back by ten, please, for I do not expect to be much later than that.’ She stepped through the door and added, ‘And do remember to lock up before you go out.
A different footman from the one who had delivered the invitation opened Lord Buckland’s front door to them. She entered, suppressing a flutter of nervous anticipation. It was simply the unfamiliarity of English social life, nothing else, she told herself, sending Prudy a reassuring smile. Where she had been so confident, mingling with Wellington’s officers in Portugal, acting as a very young hostess at her father’s side whenever he was home on furlough, now she had to learn how to act as a well-bred single lady in provincial England. She suspected it would place her under far more searching scrutiny than she had ever had to endure before.
Still, she must study to adapt quickly. London, or at least respectable society there, was closed to her now. ‘Good evening, madam.’ It was Guy’s very superior butler, Parrott. Hester smiled, inwardly contrasting the gauntly correct figure with her Jethro. She wished now that Guy had not promised to speak to Parrott about the lad, he was sure to have forgotten and Jethro would be so disappointed.
The butler cleared his throat. ‘If it would not be inconvenient, I had hoped to invite your man Ackland to call in the next day or so. His lordship mentioned that he might find it interesting to view our arrangements here.’
She had been wrong to doubt Guy; the warmth of pleasure touched her. ‘Thank you, Parrott, I am more than happy for Ackland to call. He is an ambitious young man and will appreciate the opportunity to observe the running of a superior household.’
The butler inclined his head at the compliment and threw open a door. ‘Miss Lattimer, my lord. Miss Prudhome.’
Guy turned from his conversation with Mrs Bunting and her bosom bow Mrs Redland to greet the new arrivals and almost stopped in his tracks. This could not be Hester Lattimer, the young lady with her hair half down her back or full of ivy stalks and dust. This was certainly not the impetuous harum-scarum miss who balanced on rickety ladders because she was too impatient to wait for help or who answered her own front door in an apron.
This was an elegant lady dressed in the first stare of London fashion, her hair coiffed, her jewels sparkling. As he reached her and bowed to her answering curtsy, Guy also recognised with what skill she had chosen her ensemble. The gown was modestly high across the bosom and relied more on cut and fabric than on ornamentation to make its impact. Her diamonds, though fine, were simple, and her skin and eyes were innocent of any aids to beauty.
She appeared exactly as she no doubt had fully intended-a single lady of respectable means, breeding and good taste. Nothing here to put up the backs of the local dowagers or scandalise the critical.
He was equally careful how he greeted her. Any hint of familiarity would set tongues wagging and scandal-broth brewing. He was aware of her sharp-nosed companion regarding him nervously.
‘Miss Lattimer, Miss Prudhome. Good evening. Now, I believe not everyone here is yet known to you? Mr and Mrs Bunting you know, of course. May I introduce Mrs Redland, Miss Redland and Mr Hugh Redland of Bourne Hall? Major Piper and Mrs Piper of Low Marston.’
There were nods and greetings, then Mrs Bunting took Miss Prudhome firmly under her wing and drew her into a discussion about the village school.
Guy watched Hester without seeming to as she passed from one guest to another. Whoever this mysterious young woman was-and he was finding her an increasing mystery and contradiction with every encounter-her social skills were immaculate. She had a pleasant deference to the older guests, but without the slightest hint of shyness. With the Redland son and daughter she was warm and friendly.
Yet he felt a suppressed watchfulness about her, a wariness as though she was expecting to be challenged or snubbed. Was anyone else aware of it? It seemed not, the group was absorbing the newcomer comfortably. There was curiosity, certainly, and on the part of the gentlemen those subtle changes that come over any group of men in the presence of beauty.
Startled at his own thought, Guy shifted his position as he stood talking to the major so he could watch Hester. Indeed, she was beautiful. Not conventionally so-and he was sure she would deny any such description-but her skin was creamy, her hair soft and full of springing waves, her figure slender yet womanly. His own body stirred as he recalled the feel of her in his arms. Then she turned, smiling at something young Hugh Redland was saying and he saw the laughter in her eyes and with the movement caught a hint of her scent.
An unusual scent for a woman, he thought. Almost woody, or perhaps mossy with a hint of citrus. He had not noticed it before; in fact, if anyone had asked him to describe the scent of Hester Lattimer he would have replied, ‘Plain soap and dust.’ This fragrance suited her soft brown looks and the amber lights in her eyes.